


Like a Red Rose Seeking the Sun

by imightbejehan



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Bad Flirting, Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, First Kiss, Flashbacks, Fluff and Angst, Getting Together, Internalized Homophobia, Language of Flowers, M/M, Miscommunication, Mutual Pining, Nonbinary My Unit | Byleth, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Pining, Political Flirting, Post-Timeskip | War Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Slow Burn, Song Lyrics, Spoilers for Post-Timeskip | War Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), just FYI
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-15
Updated: 2019-11-11
Packaged: 2020-12-17 02:20:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21046697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imightbejehan/pseuds/imightbejehan
Summary: War divides and unites. Lorenz and Claude are no exceptions.





	1. thinking about not thinking about you

**Author's Note:**

> me, a fool: wow the op could be read through the lens of claurenz
> 
> me, a bigger fool: what if i wrote a fic about it
> 
> *slaps this fic* this baby can fit so many headcanons in it
> 
> anyway, i hard core fell for these two and i'm still finishing up my GD route but goddamn.  
please enjoy this overly inspired fic

Part of him wanted to turn back. 

Lorenz nudged his horse faster to spite this part, this very big part that crept up the base of his spine and whispered in his ears when the wind swept his hair back. No matter how much of himself yearned to run away – to return – Lorenz found his body fighting on. 

It had been earlier morning when he left Gloucester, before even his father’s maids had lit the fires to heat the kettle for breakfast. His own retainer had been scarcely awake, blearily dressing him while wiping the sleep from her eyes. 

Lorenz himself had not gotten much sleep – none if he were to be honest about it. He hoped no one would ask. 

No one. 

Again, the whisper grasped at his neck and he tightened his hands subconsciously on the reins. 

That was the problem as he ran towards Garreg Mach. 

Would there be anyone there waiting for him at the abandoned monastery? Would he be the only one to remember that promise, five years before. And even if they did, who else would be foolish enough to show up now? The professor, as much as it pained him to admit it, was dead. 

Every other hour his mind switched its stance as he rode on. 

No one would come. In that case, he could save face: no one would have to know that he had rushed to the old, ruined academy and he would have to bear no shame. Yet, he couldn’t turn tail and run home any more. By now, as the sun set in the mountains around him, Lorenz knew that news of his quick escape from the estate would have made it rounds and he would most surely be labeled a traitor. If he returned now... then he would have to crawl back to his father with all number of excuses on his tongue. 

Or, everyone would be there. He had not kept in contact too much after his father had decided to ally with the Empire a year into the war, but he was still aware of them moving in the Alliance. He would be a fool to not keep track of any threats in the Alliance, and a bigger fool to not track allies. Hilda had been the best at replying, but even her letters grew infrequent after the fall of his father. They had never spoken about the promise in any of their letters, though Lorenz finds it rather strange that Ignatz for all his sentimentality would never raise the subject again. But if they remembered and were unsure of whether he forgot... well he could not begin to blame them. 

The worst however, would be that just one would show. This thought plagued Lorenz the most, sweeping in at the end of every other scenario he could think of; the big what if that had kept him up that night. Claude would not forget. He made the promise himself. Though Lorenz trusted any words that came from the Riegan very little, he had sensed enough of his schemes to know that the promise had not been that, but just a school boy’s promise, one that was unaware of the hells to come. But that school boy was the Duke now, and Lorenz did not know what that meant for them. 

Not that there ever was a _ them _to speak of, he was quick to chide himself. They had been regretful allies in the academy days, partner’s in anything if only by fate – or the professor’s insistence that they do chores together for some inane reason. Yet, by the end of that year they had become something more, something more akin to friends than Lorenz might care to admit. There had been no words to it then, but his heartstrings pulled tight at the thought of the late nights in the library or the afternoons in the gardens, fretting over their uncertain futures and covering it all up with nervous laughter. But it was different now. Lorenz was no longer just a student sent by his father; he bore the burden of his father’s choices on his shoulders now, and Claude – Claude knew it all. 

The sharp, distinct sound of weapons clashing shook him from his thoughts as he descended through the mountains. It was a sound that he could not easily forget, as it had a tendency recently to follow him from the fields around Gloucester into his bed each night. 

Suddenly on high alert, Lorenz reached around to slowly ease a javelin out of his weapon pack. It wasn’t his favorite weapon, but if he had the chance for a sneak attack it would give him the range he needed. He shrugged his shoulders lightly, working his muscles in as quick of a warm up as he could manage to give himself, listening intently for the distinct clack of Thyrsus against his armor. It was a last resort, but he shivered at the thought of using it again. The relic has always unsettled him. It was never quite as terrifying as the Sword of the Creator had always been, but he could always feel a deep hum whenever he held it in his bare hands. On more than one occasion he had thought he had seen it twitch in the corner of his eye, the thin spikes lining its edge like fingers reaching out to grab on to something only to grasp the empty air. 

He slowed his horse to barely a walk now, slipping through the trees as he approached what he assumed to be a village once, only known through his days at the academy. From above he heard a sudden screech and he whipped his head up just in time to see a wyvern dive from the sky, almost as dark as the air around it if not for the flash of yellow that adorned it. 

Lorenz felt the breath leave his lungs. That familiar yellow that he would know as well as a Gloucester rose, no matter how long it had been since he had seen it last. 

Without another thought he barreled into the ruins, chasing after the flash. 

He still couldn’t believe it; the rush of meeting everyone again – of meeting the professor again – had meant that not even the battle could bring weariness of sleep to his bones once more. It had all happened so fast. One moment he is crashing into the ruins at the sight of Claude and then next Ignatz is there, taking down a bandit at his side, giving him a smile like they were young again and battling for a simple grade. Then there was the professor, who left the fray to give them all a brief hello and a famously soft smile. Lorenz felt tears prick at the corners of his eyes but he pushed them aside, opting to scold the professor for making them all worry so much. He was right at least; it was very un-noble of them to make their beloved class believe them dead. And then there had been Claude. After it had ended, he had so ungraciously leapt from the back of his beast to welcome them all, a smile for each of his former classmates. 

Even for him. 

For a moment Lorenz had sworn the smile had to have been for someone else, but he couldn’t miss the way the corner of Claude’s eyes scrunched up when they met with his own; like he had thought up a joke that he wasn’t quite ready to share, like he had smiled back at Lorenz in the hallways of Garreg Mach. 

Now he was back in those hallways once more. The atmosphere hadn’t changed quite as much as he was expecting, though it was much darker and desolated and certain corridors were rendered unpassable, the monastery had always held a certain eeriness in its walls. His feet guided him to the over grown gardens without much thought or care, having the halls memorized. 

The growth of the garden had crept up the walls of the monastery and nearly covered the gazebo at the center. Thankfully, there was still a clear path cutting up to the gazebo with only clovers bleeding from between the stepping stones. Lorenz noted that the white clover flowers bloomed later in the year here. They had long since faded from the grounds of the Gloucester Estate by now. 

It would be hard to compare such a garden in disrepair to the gardens in Gloucester, but Lorenz had noticed a decline even in his own roses as of late. Though his father was in good standing with Edelgard, things were still tense in the household. His mother hardly tended to the garden anymore; hardly even left her dark chambers. The maids kept the growth back, but none of them had the keen sensibilities he knew his mother to have. 

Lorenz plucked a clover flower by his feet, saving it from its certain death by boot. They were a simple weed of a flower, not much use in a garden, but he couldn’t help but find a comfort in their resilient beauty in the moonlight. He wouldn’t be caught dead with clovers overtaking his garden, but for a moment he let himself imagine a field of them stretching out between two mountains as if the clouds had descended to mix with the grass on Earth. 

“I prefer the purple ones myself.” 

Lorenz jumped, though the words were merely whispered. He whirled around, quickly schooling any shock he felt into annoyance as he replied. “Of course you would.” 

Like Lorenz, Claude was dressed down to his shirtsleeves and casual breeches tucked haphazardly into his riding boots. His hair was slightly more mussed compared to earlier, like he had been running his hand through his curls – or someone else had. Lorenz quenched the thought as soon as it had risen. Claude looked as if he had settled in for the night, only to change his mind in a hurry. 

“What is that supposed to mean, dear Lorenz?” 

“It’s garish. White fairs far better as a pure, understated beauty you just simply wouldn’t understand,” Lorenz paused and looked back down to the flower stem he was crushing between his fingers. He sighed and relaxed his hand. “And I’m not your dear anything, Duke Riegan.” 

“I never said you were mine, that’s all you Count Gloucester.” 

He whipped his head back up in time to catch Claude’s wink, only sending Lorenz further into a flustered blush. He looked away again, moving his body forward along the path towards the gazebo once more. He grounded himself with the weight of Claude’s last words. “I’m afraid you have it wrong once again: I am also no count.” 

“Ah that’s right, pardon me.” Lorenz did not have to look back to know Claude was following him. His voice came closer now. He imagined that if Claude spoke any louder he would feel it on the nape of his neck, just between where his hair and collar met. He rolled his shoulders to displace the tension building between the blades there. 

“It would do you good to remember the governing lords in your own territory, Duke.” 

“I remember the ones that matter.” 

There was something unsaid that Lorenz couldn’t quite grasp at; something that escaped him. “Would you dare insinuate that House Gloucester does not _ matter _?” 

“No Lorenz, goddess.” Another shift in tone made Lorenz want to look back, to try to read between the furrows of Claude’s brow and the gap between where his teeth met his lips in a smile. He refrained; instead walking to the edge of the gazebo to grasp the railing in his hands. The white paint was peeling. He could feel it crawl up underneath his manicured nails. A shame, truly, to have them ruined already, but Lorenz knew his nails stood no chance against the war with the Empire to begin with. After a moment, Claude continued. “This isn’t exactly how I pictured this reunion going.” 

“What? With you insulting me? Seems pretty in line with what I expected from you.” 

Claude let out a genuine laugh. Lorenz had heard it more tonight than he had even imagined possible in the past five years – every time he thought about meeting his past classmate and leader again. It felt strange to be the one causing it. Truth be told, he also didn’t imagine it going so... well. Sure, Claude and the others had insulted and teased him, but it had always been that way. No, there was no real malice in the jabs they sent. It left him feeling empty; vulnerable. 

“Five years is a long time.” 

Lorenz gathered the courage to turn to Claude again as he came to stand beside him on the railing. He was leaning back against it, lounging with his body weight supported on his forearms and elbows, but his face was turned towards Lorenz. The back of his head lit up in the moonlight, casting a shadow down on his face. Lorenz had to fight down the urge to take his chin in his hands and turn him towards the light. 

It was always like this. No matter how bright the surroundings were, Claude always kept himself half concealed in shadows. 

“It certainly is.” He meant to say it with more confidence, just a simple statement on the inevitable passing of time, but his throat betrayed him. 

It was almost imperceptible, the way Claude’s eyebrows drew in together ever so slightly, but Lorenz knew to always be looking – to be searching for the barest tell. And just like that, it was gone and Claude smiled again, full force, bringing the light back. 

“You’ve gotten taller!” 

“I wish I could say the same for you.” 

“Hey, I think I’ve grown into my build pretty well,” Claude lifted an arm from the railing, flexing it to prove a point. “No need to be jealous.” 

“There is no need for jealousy, my build is perfectly befitting for a noble of my status.” 

“Hmm,” Claude hummed as he raked his eyes down Lorenz’s figure. Lorenz was intimately aware of the shiver that wracked his body and that Claude was aware of it too with the way his eyes leapt up from his thighs to meet back up with his own. “I guess I can agree with you just this once.” 

“How very kind of you, Duke,” Lorenz drawled, careful to drip his words with distain to cover for the blush he could feel rising on his cheeks. 

“Y’know, just Claude is fine.” 

“I disagree. “Just Claude” is hardly a fit way of addressing you in this current situation. My sense of nobility just won’t allow it.” 

“What situation would that be, Lorenz?” Claude’s voice had lost the lightness of his teasing now, dipping deeper. It was a genuine question, though Lorenz could not fathom why. “Is it strange for a friend to want to be called by their name?” 

A friend. 

Lorenz felt the air rush from his lungs. He stayed silent, searching for the scheme he was sure he could find hidden in a wrinkle on Claude’s face, but there was nothing. 

A friend. 

It didn’t sit well in the pit of his stomach. He had never considered that Claude would have any inclination that they had been actual friends at the Officer’s Academy, and even if he had Lorenz had expected any sentiments would have dissipated in light of recent events. Yet here they were, years spread out in the two feet space between them and Claude acting like things had never really changed. No, that wasn’t true either. There was a lack of a guard up to cloud Claude’s face now, and even through the shadow of the night carving into his cheek bones Lorenz could see an openness he had never been privy to in their school days. 

It unnerved him. 

“I suppose that’s a fair point, Claude.” 

“Good to know you can still admit when I’m right, too!” With a wink Claude pushed himself up off the railing. He yawned, big enough to be fake but long enough to be believable. “Now c’mon, time for bed. We got a big day tomorrow.” 

Lorenz fought down his own unbecoming yawn. “I suppose I’ll have to concede that you are right once more tonight, but don’t expect me to make a habit of this.” 

“Don’t worry, I know I can always count on you to keep me on my toes.” 

“Someone must,” Lorenz sighed. He leaned away from the railing as well and motioned forward. Claude caught on and bowed, deeply and sarcastically, before he turned on his heel and walked back down the clover covered path. Lorenz scoffed at the display of false chivalry but followed. 

“And you do such a fine job of it.” Claude reached the hallway back into the dorms before Lorenz, but he could still hear his voice echo after his body disappeared into the shadow of the building. “Goodnight my dear Lorenz.” 

The monastery bells rang though the crisp early morning air for the first time in five years. Unlike the days at the academy, Lorenz was already up and preparing for the day. His retainer was not able to make it with him in his escape from the estate, so he woke up early from his fitful sleep to strap himself up proper in armor. As a noble, he didn’t need to; but as a knight, he was well acquainted with each piece. 

It was a ritual in tranquility. While it had been a long while since he had had to suit himself up alone, there was a mechanical – automatic – motion to it. He did not have to think of anything; his mind therapeutically blank. It was almost a shock when he fastened the last clasp on his gauntlet. 

It had been a long time since he had let himself not think, perhaps it had really been five years since. He didn’t regret it; not the long nights laboring in the Gloucester library, not the constant debates with his father, not the visits into town both bloody and peaceful. As a noble it was his duty to be the constant diplomat that was demanded in times of peace, and more so in times of war. The day he would regret it would be the day he would no longer be able to call himself a proud noble. 

As the last echo of the bells faded into the breeze Lorenz made his way to the dining hall. Breakfast was a sludge the cook dared called porridge but he ate without a complaint leaving his mouth. There were plans to meet up with the professor to go over the tasks of the day, but all the former students had discovered they were lacking knowledge of any time or place for such meeting, so they all lingered in at the tables sharing stories they didn’t have time to say the night before when exhaustion over took them. Lorenz noted Claude down the table from him eating amicably with Hilda and Marianne across the table. Hilda was as radiant as he could remember, not that it surprised him in the least. She was talking loudly over Claude about something but Claude wouldn’t have it. Marianne was quiet next to Hilda, but she leaned aside to snicker into her fingers. She made eye contact with Lorenz as he watched and blushed but offered a small nod his way. He nodded back, supporting a blush of his own at being caught. She seemed to have gained an air of confidence in the war. Her back was straight, shoulders down from where they used to hunch up at her ears. He noted that the dark circles like constant bruises had faded from around her eyes, but wondered how long that would last. 

Ignatz sat down, suddenly bouncing into his view. Lorenz immediately straightened up over his food and offered a polite good morning. 

“It is so strange to be back,” Ignatz stated after his own greeting. “I half expected to find no one here, and now look at it! Suddenly bursting with life again.” 

“As much as it pains me to admit, I had my own doubts.” 

“I was so happy to see you.” 

Lorenz nearly choked on his porridge, but forced the sludge down his throat instead. He let the sentence hang. 

“Is that so?” 

“Oh yes. I tried calling out to you as you came down the mountain but I don’t think you heard me.” 

“How rude of me,” Lorenz couldn’t recall hearing anyone at that moment as he ran to the ruins, he felt embarrassment well up. “My apologies Ignatz, it was never my intention to ignore you.” 

“Pay it no mind, I knew you were in a hurry to get to Claude.” 

“To get to Claude? No, it is simply a noble’s duty to help out any damsel in distress.” 

“Either way, I won’t hold it against you.” 

“You are truly a man amongst men, Ignatz. As always, my doors are always open for you.” 

Ignatz blushed and opened his mouth to speak, but the voice that came did not match. 

“Wow there Lorenz, hitting on your comrades should wait until at least lunch.” 

“Claude!” Lorenz spun to see the man slipping into the spot next to him. “I was offering up my services for employment you buffoon. Not everyone is as barbaric as you.” 

“I’m sorry I forgot about that stick up your ass my dear Lorenz.” Claude smirked as Lorenz grew red. 

“As I said before, I am not your ‘dear’ anything.” 

“But you will agree about the stick up your ass?” 

“Claude! How dare –” 

“Relax your nobleness,” Claude clapped his hand on Lorenz’s back, right where the Gloucester rose was engraved. Lorenz couldn’t feel the warmth through the metal, but it made its way to his face anyway. “I’ve just come to inform you that the meeting of the minds will be starting soon. Teach said that we could use the war room since Rhea can’t tell us no.” 

“I am certain that they did not say that,” Lorenz huffed. 

“Maybe not, but you’ll never know.” 

After an hour, Lorenz found himself in the greenhouse. 

Byleth had decided that he would be put on clean up and weeding duty, though he was informed that he should work on the greenhouse before tackling the outer gardens. He could admit to a childish feeling of annoyance at being forced into the greenhouse first, but he was aware that the vegetables they could grow and harvest inside its doors were infinitely more important to an army at war than a few roses. The clover flowers would have to wait for their demise. 

He had little time to debate the loss of beauty in the chaos of war, however, as Byleth had decided to award Lorenz for his troubles with a partner. 

Hilda had swapped out her dark pink satin gloves for a pair of sturdy leather workman’s gloves they had found buried in the garden shed as the two had dug for equipment. She had complained about the loose fit of them, noting the empty space between her delicate fingers and the rounded tip of the leather, but she had quickly quieted when Lorenz had reminded her that the other option would be soiling the beds of her nails with dirt. 

He was inclined to agree with her sentiments, though he did not voice these complaints. He was aware that his hands were not exactly masculine. They had plenty of callouses hardened up on his palm, built up after many bloody blisters washing away in the bath, and they knew their way around the hilt of a weapon. Yet, his fingers were thing and long and his palm rounded rather than square. He could remember the feeling of his father’s hands, in his own, on his shoulder, across his face – but they were nothing like his. His armored gauntlets added more bulk to them, hiding the boniness behind more structure, but he was aware of those moments the gloves were off and stray eyes would lock on his long square nails. 

“Ugh,” Hilda groaned from the opposite end of the greenhouse, gearing up for what Lorenz could tell was another load complaint. “This is going to take forever. How could the professor assign a delicate flower like me to do such dirty work?” 

Lorenz didn’t have an actual answer to that. He had wondered himself why he had been placed in charge. Or course, he was plenty capable of taking care of any flower and prided himself as any good Gloucester on his ability to raise roses, but growing anything for consumption was a bit out of his league. He had tried to catch Claude’s eyes when the professor had been delegating, as they were just as unreadable as five years prior, but Claude had not so subtly avoided his searching gaze. Lorenz couldn’t help but wonder if it had anything to do with the conversation in the garden before. 

“Perhaps they had taken note of your flowery disposition and knew that your presence would be essential in revitalizing this space.” Lorenz stood up and looked down at his handiwork as he spoke. He had taken care of the weeds, which was most anything, and had cleared the planters for the news seeds. He had rescued what he could, but alas five years could do more damage than he had originally imagined. He had only a brief moment to think of his father and mother, pale and swallow, before Hilda was speaking again. 

“You always have the right thing to say!” Hilda laughed. It sounded like the smalls bells they would decorate carriages with during the winter festivals. Sharp, high, precise. 

“It is important for a noble to converse, however I find myself struggling on occasion. Your praise is not deserved, but a welcome kindness.” 

“That’s not true.” Hilda’s tone softens. “Sure, you’re kinda awkward and can be pretty forward, but you’ve always been oddly sincere. It’s refreshing. You know, back when we were still students here, sometimes if I was feeling a bit down or if I wasn’t sure about an accessory I had just made I would make sure to walk by you. You’d always have something nice to say.” 

“I would only speak the truth.” 

Another laugh. Lorenz turned to see her staring back at him already. She had a hand on her hip, cocked but relaxed. He hadn’t realized she had been so tense until she had unfolded in front of him. 

“That’s what I appreciate about you. It’s nice to see that much hasn’t changed.” 

“You are much too kind. It should only be expected as a noble to compliment that which demands compliment.” 

Hilda’s face darkened just a fraction and her eyes bounced slightly to the left, seeing something just beyond his shoulder. “It should be.” 

They lapsed back into silence once more, slightly less comfortable than the first. Hilda stayed in her corner, leaning against the panes of glass now, while Lorenz moved on to ripping up the next planter. He couldn’t help but think back to the academy, nostalgia seeping back into the gaps the silence left. It hadn’t been uncommon for Lorenz to take over a task for Hilda while she would rest. He hadn’t minded it, rather a sense of duty had always compelled him in the first place. 

“Sorry I never mailed you back.” 

Lorenz didn’t look back up. “On the contrary, I do remember receiving correspondence from House Goneril on several occasions.” 

“No, I mean, yes, but I’m sorry I stopped. I didn’t really know what to say.” 

“There is no need for apologies. This is war. Sometimes there is nothing to say.” 

“You never seem to struggle.” 

There was a moment, after the professor had disappeared. Claude had been standing there, staring into the distance. He didn’t move when Lorenz had shaken him; didn’t acknowledge him until he was being dragged away. 

“They fell,” he had said. “I saw it happen. They fell. I need – ” 

Claude’s hand was much bigger than his own. Soaked in blood and sweat. 

Lorenz had had no reply as he hauled him to the nearest horse. He didn’t ask _ who _ . He didn’t ask _ why _. He didn’t question the tear tracks leaving clean rivers through the mud on his face. He didn’t think that it would have been his last chance. 

“My apologies for giving you such an impression,” Lorenz called back to Hilda. His hands had stilled in the middle of pulling out a dandelion. He looked down at the yellow stains painting the tanned leather. 


	2. pieces of a song i can't get out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A late night excursion can always lead to more than what was intended.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My apologies for the wait! Time slipped away from me with conventions and grad school. I hope you'll forgive me!!

The call had come in the late afternoon. A messenger had arrived with just enough day light left for the Knights and the Alliance to begin preparations for the journey for reinforcements with a new destination in mind:  Ailell . 

Months had passed quickly. Cleanup was well on its way and the monastery was getting closer to its former glory. Lorenz felt pride swell at his handiwork in the greenhouse. The weeds and rubble had been cleared by the end of the first month, and Hilda and Lorenz had made quick work of the seeds. When he had passed by before the council  meeting, he had seen the beginnings of green sprouts budding through the soil. 

But with the recent orders to pack up and head across the mountains to  Ailell ,  he hadn’t had much time left for working on the outer gardens. It was probably only fair, as they wouldn’t add any merit to the army like the greenhouse vegetables would, but Lorenz still found himself back in the gardens each night, lamenting the wait before its eventual return to beauty. Because it would – eventually – return if he had any say in it. 

However, that line of thinking only  led  back to the same dilemma every time. What say did he have? Lorenz always had a hard time keeping his mouth shut. He would be as vocal as necessary, when necessary and he was never shy about it. It was no matter on whether or not it was nice, only the matter on whether or not it would be his duty to step up and say something. More often than not, the duty did befall to him. Yet, he was not the one leading the army. As much as he hated the thought, he wasn’t even second in command. The professor was always good about listening to others, Claude  h a d always been a little less so unless it was an interesting enough scheme . B ut even if they listened to him, what power did he actually have? He had left home; left the Gloucester Estate and any knights under his command remained there , along with any coinage he did not currently carry in his purse.  He had relinquished any power he had remaining to his father, who  currently  happened to be siding with the opposite side of the war. 

The rose bushes would yield no more roses, Lorenz noted as he passed , t he roots held too much rot. The leaves still burst forth, familiar and dark green, on the surface, but just below the first layer  of foliage  the branches had shriveled and the leaves had browned. 

He wondered if it would be worth it, to try to save what was left. Surely there were a few bushes that they could cultivate and save ; bring back from the brink. But, would it be worth the effort if they could just tear them up and replace them just as easy? The balance was time; sacrifice of time versus time in wait. A compromise is always a sacrifice.

If he didn’t save them, he could always replace them with Gloucester roses. He felt his heart clench in his chest. They were of course roses of superior beauty, but did they belong here in the ruins of the monastery? No, if he were to completely replace them , they should be something new, something to change this landscape completely. It was a chance  for rebirth. 

A soft footstep  against stone broke through his thoughts. 

This time, Lorenz was prepared for Claude’s interruption. Though he had let his mind wander, the threat of the journey in the morning had kept him tense. 

“Not quite a Gloucester rose, huh. I’m surprised you haven’t replaced them yet.”

Lorenz didn’t miss a beat. “I had just been lamenting the fact myself. Alas, duty calls.  War does not leave enough time for pleasantries such as gardening.”

He paused, giving Claude a chance to respond. The other man just hummed as he walked closer. Lorenz continued, “ However, I wonder if I should replace them.”

Claude fell into step easily. Unlike Lorenz, who had cast off his armor after dinner, he was still dressed in full uniform. He wondered briefly if Claude had been in a private meeting , but decided against prying. He knew he not receive any answer worth anything even if he tried. 

“With Gloucester?” 

“Yes.”

“What, the monastery grounds not good enough?” Claude scoffed. 

Lorenz kept his gaze forward, though he paused to take a leaf from the rose bush in between two fingers. It was brittle; anything but the gentlest of touches would shatter it. 

“No, of course not. It would be of the highest honor to have my family’s roses on such historical and sacred grounds.” Lorenz paused, waiting for Claude to make a snappy comment. When none came, he continued. “But I wonder if there would be something better.”

“Better?” Claude gasped, loud and obviously fake beside him. “How could anything be better than  _ the  _ Gloucester rose?”

Lorenz knew he was just teasing, but he pushed on regardless. “There is much I haven’t seen. Perhaps one of these days I will stumble across a new flower and I will know it to be the world’s most beautiful rose. If I never do, then I will know the Gloucester rose is the most beautiful, but I cannot be so fragile as to let the idea of another rose to shake me.” 

Lorenz dropped the leaf he had been holding and continued walking once more. Claude was oddly silent beside him, just his footsteps to break up the quiet. He was being silly, he knew; there was not much place in war to talk about the beauty of one rose compared to another. Yet, it was easier to consider the flower’s delicate petals than his blood-stained hands. 

“I’ve been told about a rose,” Claude’s voice is serious when he speaks again, soft and gentle, barely above a whisper, “from east of the Locket.”

“East?” 

A word hung in the air; silent, unsaid. 

“Supposedly, it is the palest of colors. There’s argument as to whether it has color, or if it’s so light white, almost translucent, that the sun has bleached it all away and left the petals barren. But I’ve heard that it’s actually a pale lavender, masquerading as white so as not to be plucked off its bush and left to die in the vases of noble lords who would just as soon forget it .”

When Lorenz chanced a glance to Claude, he found the other with his eyes towards the sky, looking as if he was searching for something just beyond the manufactured horizon line of the monastery's roof. He followed his gaze, but there was nothing but the darkened sky lit up with the barest pinpricks of stars. 

“Pray tell, where did you hear of such a  wonderous rose?”

Claude turned his wistful smile from the sky to Lorenz, but made no motion to speak. Lorenz felt trapped in his gaze; torn between his smile and the sadness like longing that sparkled in his eyes. He couldn’t speak. 

Then just like that, Claude turned away, forward once more. “So where are you leading us, your nobleness?” 

“I must admit that I wasn’t expecting another’s presence tonight.”

“Ah, no,” Claude waved his hand dismissively, “don’t let me interrupt your machinations.” 

Lorenz scoffed. “Machinations is much too strong of a word, one that I would only reserve for whatever it is you and the professor get up to.” 

Bylet h h ad told them all they could use their first name, but it was still hard for Lorenz to use in such casual conversation.  It was one thing to think it, another to say.  He knew Claude could sense the hesitation in his voice, but he had the decency to keep barreling on through. 

“One day you’ll have to enlighten me as to what sinister things you imagine me and Teach getting up to, I’m sure it would be m uch m ore entertaining. Maybe you could write a novel about it.  Oh, but m ake sure you write me to be just as dashing as I am in real life.”

Claude turned to wink at him, his hair falling slightly into his face with the movement. 

“Perhaps you should commission someone who actually has time to daydream about you.” 

“Aw, you wound me! Dear Lorenz, are you telling me you don’t  daydream about me?”

“Daydream about wringing your neck maybe.” 

“How scandalous,  to hear that  Lord Lorenz’s noble daydreams disrupted by something so kinky. Mark me down as flattered.”

Lorenz sputtered, picking up the pace to walk faster from the garden. “It was a  _ jest _ . I would never - I have never!”

“Calm down your nobleness.” Claude matched his quick pace effortlessly, despite his shorter legs. “ I like it, proves you’re still in there.”

Lorenz stubbornly continued forward, leading the two into a hallway leading further in to the monastery. He dropped his voice as they entered inside. “I don’t understand your meaning. I never went anywhere.”

“I suppose that’s true.” Claude’s voice was soft beside him. Lorenz found himself blushing without knowing why; feeling that he was intruding on something he was not supposed to be hearing. “It’s a nice reminder all the same.”

“Whatever your meaning, I suppose I will have to take it as a compliment. Rare from you, Duke.”

“Aw c’mon,” Claude’s voice raised again, and Lorenz hushed him quickly. Claude just smirked in response, shattering the moment of softness. “I thought we had gotten past the stuffy nick names.” 

“And I told you I would be done with the ‘stuffy’ names if you would drop the fake titles around mine.”

“Touche! One point for Lorenz.”

They lapsed back into silence as Lorenz led them through the campus. Claude for his part stayed in rhythm with him, never falling behind nor stretching ahead. It was strange, how comfortable  it actually was. 

During the academy it had always been hard to find quiet around Claude. He was loud, boisterous, always wanting feasts or get togethers, or scheming and teasing other classmates and teachers. Even if he was quiet, that was just as suspicious. He was always up to something that demanded attention or scolding, and it had always been  Lorenz’s place to set him straight. 

Now Claude was quieter. He made less demands for feasts, if only so as not to antagonize  or provoke  Raphael , who had been lamenting on the meager diet they had been provided for the last moon. His schemes were much quieter too, things to be whispered in the dark or debated over in serious tones over maps and tomes and scrolls of information. 

Lorenz spared another glance over at him. On the surface not much had really changed. He had lost his braid, and gained a bit of facial hair instead. Lorenz wasn’t a fan of facial hair himself. He thought it tended to ruin a clean, noble appearance. Yet, with the way it carved out a stronger jawline on Claude, well, Lorenz could see the appeal. His smile was much the same as well : i nopportune and constant, always turning towards his friends and foes alike. 

But there was something heavier now. Lorenz had sensed it in that first battle back in the village ruins, but it had been easier to dismiss that in the heat of battle and excitement of reuniting. It had become more obvious the more they fought side by side. It was a heaviness that seemed to seep into Claude’s bones, in between meetings when he seemed to think no one else could see. Lorenz could hear it sometimes, if he was close enough, whispered over the bodies of the fallen. 

He didn’t ask. It was obvious that Claude was so fond of hiding the truer parts of himself away. And even if Lorenz considered asking, which he did sometimes when the light his just right and illuminated the darker shadows under Claude’s eyes, he knew never to actually act on such impulses. Claude would not want to indulge, this much he knew. They had a history that could not be so easily broken. 

Yet, here they were. 

Lorenz slowed their pace as they crossed the bridge. He was beginning to regret being dressed down now, as the night continued to cool all around them. A slight wave of jealousy passed over him at the sound of Claude’s cape caught in a sudden breeze. It would be nice, he noted, to have that constant uniform like armor to protect from even the vulnerability of the night. 

When they crossed the threshold into the cathedral, Claude spoke again. 

“Praying in the dead of night? Dear Lorenz, I never took you for such a pious man.”

“I pray as much as necessary, I’ll have you know.” 

“Of course, of course. Always the proper little son.” Claude’s teasing was light and airy, the kind of tone Lorenz knew meant no harm. He felt it sink into the pit of his stomach despite himself. 

“However,” if Claude heard the poison in his tone, he made no show of it, “I am not on such a holy mission tonight.” 

Claude let himself fall back as Lorenz strode up to the altar. It had been a long time, but Lorenz knew without looking that a piano stood just to the side. He was lucky, and he took a moment to go against his word to send a word of thanks to the Goddess for sparing the instrument from the destruction of the raid five years prior. It had certainly suffered, that much could be seen from the dust and scars littering its once pristine surface, but  it matched Lorenz just fine. 

He set about tuning it first, as Claude settled himself in a pew across from him. It had been ages since Lorenz had needed to tune his own piano, but his governess had seen it a  necessity when learning to play. 

“You cannot truly play until you understand an instrument completely,” she had scolded him after one too many complaints. “You will never master anything if you are still blind.” 

It was an awkward process. Too many years and a lack of suitable tools left him floundering for longer than he would have liked, but eventually Lorenz sat himself on the bench and tapped out a tune that did not sound like death. 

It took a moment before his hands found their stride, finding familiarity in a piece he used to play on the same piano, so long before. 

Each time his fingers slipped, throwing off the cadence with a heavy, awkward echo,  and  Lorenz would restart. 

It wasn’t that he was out of practice. He had played a goodbye piece to himself and his mother, though she was none the wiser, the night before he ran off. His hands had stayed their course then, no matter how much they trembled after. 

However, today’s piece was different. He had played it perfectly before, once, on a quiet night. It was before the war tore so much from him, from everyone, when he had been allowed a such a selfish moment of respite. 

After five years, something about this night called  back to that feeling once more. 

Claude for his part sat silent. He made no comment when Lorenz faltered and began again. Lorenz could, for a moment feel himself alone in a brief moment of solitude, but even Claude’s still silence could draw attention. 

Or maybe, Lorenz spared himself a thought as he gathered his wits to restart, he just spent too much time making  note of Claude to ever forget his presence. Old habits were hard to break, especially one he had spent over a year honing. 

Time slipped away. The candles burning throughout the great hall bled their wax to the floor until almost only the wick remained. 

The final note came as a surprise to him. 

Lorenz stood up, ripping his hands from the keys as if they would burn him, leaving only scorch marks over his accomplishment. The note echoed until he realized that he was no longer hearing it at all. By the time he looked over to Claude he had already risen from the pew himself to join Lorenz at the piano. Lorenz slammed the cover down over the keys once more, hands too tired to be gentle any longer. Claude did not flinch, but instead took it as a sign to lean up against the polished hard wood. He wanted to admonish him, to scold him, but the words caught in his throat. 

“What was it called?” Claude’s voice was soft, but it echoed in Lorenz’s ears just as strongly as his own playing. He didn’t take to  flattering Claude often, but sometimes his voice sounded like music. 

“Liebestraum.” 

“And what does that mean?” 

“Dreams of love.” The words escaped, guided on their own rather than Lorenz’s choosing, but the act of saying them opened up his lungs again to breathe. He knew he sounded desperate, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that the piano had taken form of a scalpel instead and stripped him bare. 

Claude only let out a hum in response. He did not smile, a fact Lorenz considered only on his periphery. 

Belatedly, Lorenz realized that Claude had left his position on the piano to stand fully upright. Sometimes he forgot how much shorter Claude really was, when he was so often up soaring above them all. Sometimes, Claude is just a man and the thought shakes him. For all his bravado and armor he is standing with his door opening and Lorenz can hardly comprehend it. He wants to walk through, but there is a fear clinging to the back of his mind at what he might find, and a fear that the moment he tries that door will be slammed in his face. 

“Daydreams?” Claude’s breath mixes with his own and Lorenz finds himself drawn into his magnetism. 

“Perhaps.” If they were any farther apart Claude would not be able to hear him over the sounds of the night. 

There is a moment, and Lorenz ponders whether it was the piano that held the knife or Claude. 

A moment – a heartbeat – and then their lips meet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> when i said this fic was over inspired holy shit i meant it. 
> 
> this chapter brought to you by my obsession with Japanese literature that revolves around Liszt's pieces.   
the piece Lorenz played for his mother was le mal du pays - i'm partial to Lazar Berman bc I am a simple fool. the piece Lorenz plays for Claude is obviously dreams of love, but I imagine like Tiffany Poon. not my favorite cover but I love her performance as a whole so she really sold me. idk how to link things so I'll just drop the url!
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=InKk1aowFZ4
> 
> the rose rant was also brought to you by the same short story that brought the piano piece - "Dreams of Love, ETC." by Kawakami Mieko. if you can get your hands on it I highly recommend bc UGH I can only dream.... 
> 
> thank you so much for all the kudos and comments on this, you have no idea how much it means to me.
> 
> okayyyy rant over! follow me on twitter @ phantom_phenix if u want! i would die for Mr. Lorenz

**Author's Note:**

> comments and kudos appreciated! this piece is a bit more experimental than i usually write, but i wanted to try something new. i plan to have a semi regular schedule with updating this but we shall see.
> 
> if you can guess the flower language in this chapter you get a prize
> 
> find me on twitter @ phantom_phenix


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